R. Salvatore - Bastion of Darkness

“Of course, when the wind blows, it will tickle my fancy, I do daresay,” the wizard grumbled. “And oh, but where is my hat?” He looked all around, obviously distressed.

Belexus had noted the descent of the tall and pointed cap as well, and he was not happy to inform Ardaz that it had missed the ledge. Given the strong and swirling wind, that could put it anywhere within a mile or two.

Ardaz was fast to the ledge, leaning over so far to peer down that Belexus cautiously moved up to grasp the back of his flapping robes.

“I can fix the robe, oh yes,” Ardaz rambled, turning to face the ranger and slapping Belexus’ hand away-and when Belexus did let go, the overbalanced Ardaz nearly tumbled from the ledge. “I’m good at that sort of thing, you know, and have had more than my share of practice, I do daresay! But that hat! There’s a loss, and I’ve had it for so long. So very, very long!

“And where is Des, that silly puss?” he continued, hopping all around the ledge, glancing up and to the side. “Magical hat, you know,” he offered to Belexus, and then to the wide wind, he shook his fist, then called out, “Desdemona!”

“I thinked ye were-” the ranger began.

“Oh, yes,” Ardaz interrupted, snapping his fingers, and he seemed not even aware that Belexus was trying to speak. “Enchanted hat to keep my head warm. Not much plumage up there when I’m an eagle, after all! But no matter; I’ll catch my death of cold and wake every talon in the Crystals with my sneezing, no doubt, and then you shall have to kill every one-every one, I say!-in penance for your foolishness.”

“Ye weren’t… I’m not for…” Belexus tried again, futilely.

“Of course, I’ve got a head full now, now don’t I?” Ardaz rambled, grabbing at his thick shock of hair, shining more silver than white in the morning light. “Desdemona!”

Belexus started to speak again, thought the better of it, and clapped his strong hands down hard on the wizard’s shoulders, settling Ardaz’ dangerous movements, and hopefully the wizard’s rambling words, as well. Ardaz looked him right in the eye and blinked repeatedly.

“Take ease, me friend,” the ranger calmly prompted.

“Would’ve, would be, would never have not been, if you hadn’t shot me,” Ardaz replied dryly.

Belexus couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer, erupting in a howl, and drawing a scowl from the old man, but one that fast melted as Ardaz, too, joined in the mirth. “Oh, and a good shot, I do daresay!” the wizard roared, reaching around to the twin holes once more. “Right between the drumsticks!”

His laughter flew away as he thought on that last statement for a moment, his face blanching white. “A bit too good,” he muttered under his breath.

“Suren I’m glad to be seeing ye, me friend,” Belexus said. “But why’re ye here, so far from yer home?”

Ardaz snorted. “Not so far from my home as is Belexus of Avalon,” he shot back. “And coming of my own powers, instead of forcing a poor cold pegasus out here with me, I do daresay!”

Belexus conceded the point with a nod, not even trying to explain that Calamus had come of his own volition.

“So what is it, what could it be, that might bring a ranger from the forest in midwinter?” Ardaz asked bluntly. “Especially a one who has so taken a fancy to my sister-and you and I, oh yes, we shall talk about that later!”

Belexus blushed fiercely, but the mere mention of Brielle brought warmth flowing through his veins. “A quest,” he admitted.

“A quest?” Ardaz echoed, in a somewhat more sober and controlled tone. “Well, well, so the tale gets more interesting. But what quest?” he pressed. “I’m guessing that a hundred hundred could be found in this time of Thalasi, a hundred thousand, I do daresay! Hunting talons, then?”

“I’ve but one true enemy,” Belexus said seriously.

Ardaz snorted again. “One?” he asked skeptically. “I’ll show you a thousand more than one. Fly with me to the Four Bridges… er, to where the Four Bridges used to be four bridges, with King Benador, and I’ll-”

“One enemy,” Belexus said again, his voice so grim that it had a sobering effect even on Ardaz. “And when Mitchell’s wraith is put to rest, only then will I be looking for me next.”

Ardaz nodded and understood. Of course, Mitchell’s wraith, the slayer of Andovar. “I beg your pardon if stupid I prove, but are you not going in the wrong direction?” the wizard said, as politely as he could manage. “The wraith, if it even pulled itself from the river, would be far south of here, and likely to the west. Do you mean to circle the world-and it is round, you know-” he added with a wink, “and catch up with the beastie from behind?”

The absurdity of the question might have drawn anger from serious Belexus, except for the subtle reminder that Ardaz had stood beside him in his last encounter with the wraith, had stood shoulder to shoulder on the northernmost of the Four Bridges and, in fact, had sundered the bridge, thus putting Mitchell in the river.

“I seek a weapon,” Belexus admitted. “One Brielle has shown to me, the one in all the world, perhaps, that can truly harm the undead demon the Black Warlock has set upon us.”

“No settlements up here,” the mage reasoned. “Not a person to be found. A few talons, perhaps, but hardly any possessing such a weapon, I do daresay!”

“Not a settlement,” Belexus clarified. “A lair.”

“Oo, but I hate that word!” Ardaz replied, shaking his hands and his head vigorously. “A lair. A lair,” he said repeatedly, rolling the words off his tongue in a different manner each time, but shuddering with each pronouncement. “Conjures images of dragons and the like. Oo, a lair.”

“So it does,” the ranger replied evenly.

Ardaz stopped his babbling and stared long and hard at Belexus. “A dragon?” he managed to ask after a long pause, holding his arms outstretched, his hands waving under the edges of his great sleeves, making them appear as ominous wings.

“So says the witch,” Belexus answered without hesitation.

“You are going after a sword that rests in a dragon’s lair?”

“I seek the one weapon with which I might be paying back me enemy,” Belexus answered resolutely, his tone telling the wizard in no uncertain terms that any obstacles standing between him and the sword were unimportant.

“Whip-dragon?” Ardaz asked hopefully, for Belexus had defeated many of those.

“True dragon,” the ranger answered.

“Little dragon?” the wizard asked, again with the hopeful grin and tone.

Belexus crossed his arms over his muscled chest and shook his head slowly, side to side.

“Sleeping dragon?”

The ranger shrugged, again as if that were not important.

“Oh, well, let us hope,” Ardaz said suddenly, excitedly.

“Us?”

“You and me, of course,” the wizard bellowed. “Us. Though you would probably call us ‘weselves’ or some other such silly thing, what with that silly accent me-my-sister gave to your father and he to you.”

“I canno’-” Belexus began.

“See?” Ardaz accused, pointing a finger at the ranger’s mouth. “Canno? Canno what? Canno beans?”

“Stop yer babbling,” Belexus scolded, understanding that Ardaz might just be trying to confuse the serious issue-and worrying that the wizard might just be being the wizard! “I canno’ think to-”

“Stop me. Right,” Ardaz finished. “Of course, you canno’. I make my own path, you know. One of the agreements with the Colonnae when they made me a wizard, and quite beyond anything you might say or do.”

“I’m not asking-”

“Nor am I, nor am I,” Ardaz was quick to reply.